This Is Not A Game
by Disney Syndulla
Summary: There is a game children play when they are young, they close their eyes and pretend they can't see. Giggling when they bump into things, and laughing when they knock stuff over, but always opening their eyes in the end...But now, it wasn't a game. (Also in Spanish)
1. Chapter 1

**_Stop me_**

* * *

There is a game children play when they are young, they close their eyes and pretend they can't see. Giggling when they bump into things, and laughing when they knock stuff over, but always opening their eyes in the end.

Kanan remembered playing that game when he was young, when he was Caleb Dume. He had a distinct memory of running around the crèche room, eyes closed, with his fellow younglings, laughing as they ran into their crèche masters, walls, each other. Falling into fits of giggles as they ran around blindly. Later they used helmets that blocked their vision to deflect stun bolts from training droids. Caleb was never good at that, especially when a droid would hover behind him and send a stun bolt to his back. It wasn't very pleasant, to say the least.

But now, it wasn't a game.

Now, Kanan didn't have the satisfaction of knowing he could simply open his eyes and see again. Now, he could only remember what color was, only remember what the faces of the crew looked like. Only remember his way around the _Ghost_ , around the base.

Now, he only had his memory.

And his most recent memory?

A terribly bright flash of red, flying toward him, unable to dodge in time, and it all being followed many nothing but pain. Pain, and darkness.

He still had his other senses, thank the force. He could still hear the sound of the Phantom taking flight after Malachor, the sound of Ezra's continued sobbing as it echoed around the small ship. He could still smell the scent of space -hot metal and wielding fumes- and when they landed, he could still smell the dry air of Atollon. When they came back to Hera and the others, he felt her hold his face in her hands. When Kanan offered her a weak smile, he felt arms wrap around his neck and her face leaning against his shoulder armor. He could feel Ezra gripping his arm too, showing no signs of letting go.

Later, he could taste cold water running down his throat. It felt amazing, when had he last had a drink of water? He could taste the bitter medicine he was given as it burned his tounge. He felt the stinging, burning pain as the medical droid cleaned his wound, and he felt Hera squeeze his hand reassuringly. That night after everyone else had gone to bed, he could taste the bile that rose within him when he felt sick to his stomach.

The next day he felt Hera gently tug his dirty sweater over his head, and helped him into a cleaner shirt so the former one could be washed. He felt tugging and pulling on his scalp as the Twi'lek ran a comb through his scraggly hair and pulled it into a fresh ponytail. Kanan felt a rush of happiness run through him when Hera pulled him into a warm embrace, and felt even happier when he felt her lips on his.


	2. Chapter 2

Electricity sparked onto Kanan's battered body, giving the air a distinct smell of burned flesh. The Jedi gritted his teeth, trying in vain to keep his cries of pain from echoing in the cell, but had no success. His fists curled into balls, he would _not_ give in, he would _not_!

"Still protecting your precious crew," The Pau'uan in front of him chuckled darkly, and the electricity ceased. "Quite admirable. But what I want to know is about the other rebels. Codename: Fulcrum."

Kanan sighed. Couldn't this guy take a hint? "I know nothing of a larger rebellion," his tounge flicked across his dry lips, what he would do for a glass of water... "And if I did, I'd rather give my life than tell you."

The Inquisitor gave him a look that clearly said he would give anything to arrange that, but the look vanished, and he gave another dark laugh. "So heroic, just like your Master." Kanan stiffened and leaned as far away from the sith as his restraints would allow. "Tell me, Jedi. How did you survive Order 66." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Kanan could see, the Inquisitor had been waiting to get this reaction from him. Well, he would _not_ get the satisfaction—"It was your Master Billaba who laid down her life for yours." The alien leaned closer. "Do you remember her last word to you, her last and final breath before she died? You do, don't you? You see it in your sleep. You hear her voice when you wake." He grinned, bearing his pointed teeth. "Tell me, Jedi, what was her last word to you?"

In that moment, Kanan was Caleb Dume again. In that moment, he was back on Kaller. In that moment, the events replayed all over in his head. Grey and Styles, suddenly turning and firing at him and his Master. His Master telling him—ordering him to go on without her. With difficulty, Kanan managed to utter out a single world. A word that had continued to haunt him for fifteen years, a word that had plagued his mind and dreams.

" _Run_."

The single word echoed throughout Kanan's mind, he hardly heard what the Inquisitor said next.

"And does your loyal and precious crew know you ran as your master fell," Kanan froze as the Pau'uan spoke."Abandoned her and the Jedi Order... when they needed you most? What do you think your rebels would do...if they knew their leader was a coward?" No, he _wasn't_ a coward, he _wasn't_. He was following orders, he _wasn't_ a coward. "You're even afraid of your own power. You don't have the courage to wear your full saber out in the open." The truth stung...maybe he _was_ a coward. "Let me tell you something, Jedi. You're right to be afraid. You couldn't save your master then, and you can't save your followers now."

Kanan wanted to say something, anything, but the Inquisitor left. Leaving the broken Jedi, the last Padawan, to muse his thoughts.

He was a coward.

* * *

 **Literally all I can write now is angst**


End file.
